Page 105 of Miami Ice

“Good.”

Beckham consumes me with his mouth again, the kissing hard and fast and deep. I feel his fingertips on the button of my jeans, and before I know it, I’m out of them and his pants are off. I run my hands lower, down to his thighs, and I’m amazed at how rock hard and muscular they are. They are huge.

“You’re beautiful,” I murmur into his skin, kissing his chest again. “Like a statue. So perfect.”

His fingertips move from my stomach to my panties, dancing around the straps of pink lace.

“You’re perfect too,” he says, kissing me again.

But this time, he slips a finger underneath the panties and finds my most intimate spot.

Pure, white hot heat shoots through me as I feel him touch me. Stroke me. Caress me.

I move my hands around his neck, clinging to him as he moves his fingers rhythmically, as if knowing exactly what I need. My breathing picks up, and so does Beckham’s intensity. I begin to pant. Gasp. Shake.

“That’s it, you’re turning me on so much, sweetheart,” he tells me.

“My God,” I cry out. “Beckham!”

“Ride it,” he commands. “Ride it hard, Georgie.”

I move against him, and then his mouth swoops down onto mine, capturing my cry of orgasm just as it tears through me. I shatter in his arms as wave after wave of pleasure hits me.

Beckham guides me back onto the mattress, his weight pinning me to it as he wraps his body over mine. We’re kissing, and my hands are in his hair, then stroking his back, as I try to regain my breath.

Then his mouth leaves mine, and he begins kissing me gently all over my face. My temple. My eyelids. The bridge of my nose, finally landing on my lips for a sweet kiss.

I feel adored.

Treasured.

Loved.

“I … I … I’ve never felt that way.” The words tumble out of my mouth, but I’m speaking about more than the orgasm I just had.

He props himself up on his elbows so he can look into my eyes. “Never?”

“No.”

The corner of his mouth tugs up into a satisfied smile. “Then I better make you orgasm a lot to make up for that.”

He lowers himself down for another kiss, which goes from sensual and slow to quickly heated and furious.

“Get your condom,” I plead against his hot mouth as the feelings begin to build inside of me again.

Beckham gets up, and I watch as he strips out of his boxer-briefs. My mouth pops open. Dear God, the man has the greatest ass I have ever seen. Gloriously sculpted from the years of skating he has done. He truly is a magnificent male specimen.

I turn and slide off my panties, discarding them on the floor next to his boxer-briefs.

He retrieves the condom out of his wallet and quickly moves over me again, his mouth seeking mine, our tongues hot and desperate.

“Give me the condom,” I say against his lips. “I want to put it on you.”

A groan escapes his throat. “Do it.”

I tear it open, and with anxious hands, slowly place the condom on him, which causes him to writhe with pleasure and bury himself in my neck.

“Nobody touches me like you do,” he whispers into my skin. “Nobody.”

---